


One Down

by mrs_d



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Caretaking, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 11:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: Sam never seemed in need of anything.





	One Down

Late on a Tuesday afternoon, Sam and Steve get home from a trip to Louisiana — Steve’s first experience meeting the extended Wilson family. He wishes it had been under better circumstances; Sam’s grandfather passed suddenly the previous Wednesday, and they’ve spent the last six days at his mother’s house, helping with everything from the funeral arrangements to answering his nephew Jody’s questions.

“Uncle Sam’s Granddad was Mom’s Granddad too, and my Great-Granddad?” the seven-year-old asked while Steve was making sandwiches for the wake with Sarah.

“Yeah, you’ve got it,” Steve answered, wondering where this was going.

“So,” Jody said slowly. He kicked his heels against the legs of the stool he was perched on, his little face screwed up in thought. “My baby sister, and you and Sam’s kids, they’re not gonna have a Great-Granddad anymore?”

Sarah made a small noise beside him and turned sharply away, her hand on her very pregnant belly. But Jody was still looking up at Steve, curious and confused.

“Uh... that’s right,” said Steve awkwardly. “But maybe don’t say it like that to anyone else, okay?”

Suffice to say it’s been a long week. Sam was a rock, like always, stepping up to take care of things, always ready with tissues, making food in his mother’s kitchen when her sisters were over to go through the will, answering the phone and thanking the endless callers for their condolences. Even when Steve was alone with him at night, Sam never seemed in need of anything — he cuddled up close to Steve in his sleep, and that was it.  

So he isn’t surprised when the edges of Sam’s composure start to fray the second their plane touches down in New York. Sam’s antsy, his lips pressed tight together as he waits for the people ahead of them to file out. He breathes more freely once they’re on the ground, but the relief doesn’t last: their luggage takes a very long time to come out of the conveyor belt, and Sam gets a bit frantic about it, tapping his foot, pacing in circles, glaring at Steve when he tries to reassure him that it’ll be fine, that their bags will arrive soon.

They finally do, and Steve hails a taxi outside the airport — definitely a feat for a superhero, he thinks about joking to Sam, but one look at Sam’s face tells him that any attempts at humor should be avoided just now. Sam is quiet on the ride home, mostly staring out the window while the driver, clearly a little star-struck, tries to make small talk with them. Steve answers her questions without revealing any personal details or classified information, and signs a Captain America birthday card for her son.

Steve tips her well. Sam doesn’t thank her when he gets out of the car.

They get in the door and find their cat, Booker, in the front window, exactly where he was when they left a week ago. Natasha, who stayed at their place to look after him, is making something in the kitchen — it smells rich and savory — and only gives them a brief greeting.  

Glancing around the apartment, it’s clear that she’s cleaned up; several papers that were on the counter are nowhere to be seen, and, when Steve follows Sam down the hall to their bedroom, he finds a lamp on their dresser. Steve blinks at it in confusion — it’s usually on the corner table in the living room — but before he can say anything, Sam’s turned on his heel, lamp in hand.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, as he follows Sam back down the hall.

“You decided you didn’t like this lamp?” Sam demands, putting it back on the table where it belongs.

“It hums,” Nat replies carelessly. “Bugged me when I was trying to sleep out here.”

“I told you, you could have our bed,” Sam points out, plugging the lamp in.

“And I told you, I know what you two do in there,” Natasha says. She’s joking, but there’s a slight edge to her voice, something that Steve fears Sam won’t pick up on; he hasn’t known her as long as Steve has, after all.

“Where’d you put all those papers?” Sam asks aggressively, proving Steve right. “Some of them were important. And my birthday cards, I had them out—”

“They’re right here,” Nat tells him, opening a drawer. Her tone is almost patronizing now, which Steve thinks is worse. “I moved them, so I could—”

“I don’t have anywhere else to put them,” Sam interjects. “And I know it’s not neat and tidy, or whatever, but they’re important, and I need to—”

His voice breaks off. Steve catches sight of one tear as it rushes down Sam’s cheek before he covers his face with his hands. He reaches out, touches Sam’s shoulder, but Sam turns abruptly away, his cheeks wet.

“I just— okay?” he says.

Steve nods. He may not know what Sam _just_ , but he can respect that he doesn’t want to be touched right now. So he doesn’t try to stop Sam when he leaves the room, doesn’t go after him when he hears the bathroom door shut and the shower start.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha murmurs after a moment. She turns the stove down and puts the lid on the giant pot that’s simmering away. “I shouldn’t have moved your things. I just thought it’d be nice to come home to a clean place.”

“It’s all right,” Steve reassures her. “We’re tired, and....” He waves a hand, as if to encompass everything that’s happened all week. “Yeah. Sorry, Nat. Thanks for looking after things. Was Booker good?”

Natasha nods. “Perfect little angel.”

“Good,” says Steve. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Nat pauses, then asks, “How was Louisiana?”

“Rough,” Steve replies, but he doesn’t get any further before the shower turns off and Sam comes back into the kitchen, his lower half wrapped in a towel.

“Are you running the dishwasher?” he demands.

“No,” says Natasha. “Why?”

“I can’t get any hot water.” Sam goes to the tap, turns it on full blast and holds his hands under it. “Nothing,” he announces with a short, frustrated sigh.

“Weird,” Natasha says. “I had a shower this morning, and it was fine.”

“Well that’s just great,” Sam declares. His tone is furious, but another tear slips out of his eye. “So much for that.”

“Sam,” Steve tries, but Sam brushes past him without slowing down.

“I should go,” says Nat into the silence that falls after the bedroom door slams shut. “Soup’s ready when you are, Booker’s had his dinner already.”

“Thanks again,” Steve says, and he hugs her. “I’ll text you later.”

Natasha nods, heads for the door. “Take care,” she tells him earnestly before she closes it behind her.

Steve nods, thinks about those two words for a moment. Makes a decision.

He leaves the soup where it is and digs out their other pots from the cupboard. He fills them with cold water and puts them on the stove, turns the heat on high. Then he makes his way towards the bedroom, where he finds Sam lying lengthwise across the bed, still in a towel, holding his phone up in front of his face. Scrolling. Unsmiling.

“You want some soup?” Steve asks, as gently as he can.

Sam doesn’t put his phone down. “I don’t know,” he says after a long silence. His voice cracks a little. “Shower, food, and bed, that’s what I wanted, but now... I don’t know. I can’t— I can’t make decisions right now, okay? I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Steve says. He enters the room more fully. “Do you want me to make some decisions for you?”

Sam lowers his phone. Sighs. Sits up. His eyes are pink around the edges. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” says Steve. “But I don’t mind. Not one bit.”

Sam drops his gaze, his eyes seeming very far away. Slowly, he blinks, and a solitary tear makes the long journey down, over the ridge of his cheekbone and rolling along his neck until it fades into his skin.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

“That’s okay,” Steve tells him.

“No, it’s— Steve,” Sam tries to say, but Steve is already moving, closing the gap between them. He wraps Sam up in his arms and pulls him to his feet, holding him close.

Sam sobs once into Steve’s shoulder, and then it’s like a dam breaking; everything that he put aside for someone else, all the times he took care of others and not himself — that’s all gone now, now that they’re finally alone in their own space.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles wetly after a long moment.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Steve tells him, rubbing his back in slow circles.

Sam nods, holds on tight a little longer before pulling away. Steve sits him back down on the edge of the bed and kisses him on the forehead.

“Stay right here,” he says. “I’ll come get you in a minute.”

Sam nods, reaching for a tissue to blow his nose. Steve shuts the bedroom door behind him, and ducks into the bathroom to start the cold water running in the tub, adding copious amounts of Sam’s favorite bubble bath for good measure. By the time he gets back to the kitchen, the pots are steaming, so he grabs the oven mitts and makes sure the cat is nowhere along his path before he carries them carefully to the bathroom, adds their contents to the tub. He turns off the tap and tests the temperature against his elbow — something his mother taught him ages ago — to make sure it’s not too hot.

Sam’s lying down again when Steve gets back to the bedroom, but at least his head is on the pillow this time. His eyes are closed, but he doesn’t look peaceful. Still, Steve keeps his voice low, careful not to startle him.

“Sam?”

Sam opens his eyes right away — they’re fully red-rimmed now. But when he sits up, he smiles, and Steve beckons him across the hall, guides him into the bath that’s waiting for him. Sam sighs as he sinks into the frothy water.

“How’s that?” Steve asks.

“Perfect,” Sam replies.

“Good,” says Steve. He turns to go, but Sam extracts a sudsy arm to tug him back. Steve goes, finds Sam’s lips in a warm and salt-tinged kiss.

“Not gonna join me?” Sam asks when they break apart.

His voice is husky, and there’s a familiar suggestive lift to Sam’s eyebrows that Steve is relieved to see. Nevertheless, he shakes his head and steps back, smiling.

“This isn’t for me,” he says.

“We can share,” Sam counters, but he closes his eyes and sinks down a little deeper, until there really isn’t any room for anyone else.

Steve watches him a moment longer — now he looks peaceful, but Steve’s work isn’t done yet. He closes the door on his way out. Shower, dinner, and bed, Sam had requested. Steve can do that.

 _Two to go,_ he thinks, as he heads to the kitchen to see what kind of soup Nat’s made for them.


End file.
